The Way to the Wastes
by Corpus Carrion
Summary: Vignettes from the early lives of a vault dweller and a wastelander. Prequel of sorts to Yellow Rose of the Wastes.
1. Chapter 1

_For reference, Harris was born in 2236 and Lydia was born in 2258._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**2239**

His mother was busy building the last wall of the house, and either hadn't noticed or hadn't worried when he'd wandered off. He knew he wasn't supposed to go far, after all.

He casually moved farther and farther toward the edge of the cliff that their house sat beside, and pretended to be very interested in one rock after another as he made his way over, just in case she was watching. She always was.

At the corner of the house, he surreptitiously peered back to check on her. She was concentrating on hammering. Suddenly she shrieked, dropped the hammer, and stuck her thumb in her mouth. While she was distracted, he edged around the back corner of the house.

The fence she'd built between the house and the cliff was taller than he, all criss-crossing planks and scraps of wood. Perfect for climbing. He started up, carefully placing hand over foot one step at a time. As he neared the top, he craned his neck to see over the top of the fence. The canyon gaped below. He stared down in fascination for a moment, then pulled himself up. He swung a leg over so that he was perched at the top, one leg on either side. He paused there, afraid to continue. He'd never gone this far on his own before.

"Sam Harris!"

He jumped, and hurried to grasp the boards of the fence and keep himself from falling off. He whipped around to see his mother striding toward him. She plucked him off the fence and carried him back to the house. He sulked, frustrated at being caught.

"There'll be plenty of time for that later," she said. She sounded tired instead of angry. Sam looked up at her curiously.

"Enjoy the fences while you have them," she said. "They won't last forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**2262**

Lydia and Amata were playing Horses. All the kids in the Vault had to share all the toys, and today was Amata's turn with the animals, so she'd brought them over. They were old and the paint on them was wearing off, but they were still more fun than just pretending. The girls made the bed into a mountain, the sink into a lake, and Lydia's blankets into a series of tunnels. Not tunnels like in the vault. Tunnels like caves, outside. Like in movies. The horses slept in the caves at night and during the day they would come out and play in the sun.

"I don't think horses live in caves," Lydia pointed out after they'd been playing for a while. She had noticed that in movies horses usually just stood around outside. They didn't hide at night.

"Well...that's where they go to get away from the other animals outside, because, if they go outside at night they can't see when the other animals are going to eat them."

"Oh," Lydia said, bouncing her horse out of the blanket and up to the bed. She still wasn't sure that sounded right, but Amata seemed to know what she was talking about.

The door behind them slid open, and Lydia turned to see her father enter the room. He bent down next to them, looking very interested. "What are you up to, girls?"

"Playing horses," Amata replied, petting her toy.

Lydia's father played with them sometimes, but he was usually busy, and he didn't really know how to do it right anyway. Last time, he made his horse go under the bed because he didn't know there was a monster there that would eat you if you got near it. Then he tried to tell them there was a monster in the lake, too, even though there wasn't.

"Dad, wouldn't it be cool if horses were real?" Lydia said, trying to help him feel included.

Amata laughed. "Horses _are_ real."

Lydia turned to frown at her. "No they're not."

"Yeah-huh. They're outside."

"There's no such thing as outside!"

Amata laughed some more.

"I never saw a horse," Lydia said, crossing her arms. She didn't know what was wrong with Amata—she didn't usually make jokes. She turned to her father. "There's no such thing as the outside, right, Dad?"

A strange look crossed his face. He didn't answer right away. "Lydia, where do you think the vault came from?"

Amata stopped laughing and listened.

Lydia didn't understand. Why should the vault come from anywhere? "The...Overseer?" she guessed.

"Vault-Tec," Amata said.

"The vault was built by people outside. They came to live inside when the rest of the world became to dangerous," her father said.

Lydia looked back and forth between him and Amata.

"That circle door goes outside," Amata added. "But we're not allowed."

"Dad, will you take me?" Lydia asked excitedly, her voice hushed. maybe Amata wasn't allowed, but no one said anything about her.

"No," he replied flatly, in a tone of voice that said he wasn't going to change his mind. It made Lydia even more desperate.

"But _Dad_—"

"No."

She began to cry. "_Dad, I want to go..."_

"Lydia, don't whine." He looked sad, but his voice was stern. Lydia pouted. She hadn't even done anything.

Her father got up. "Play with your toys. It's much nicer than the real thing, honey, I promise."

As he left, Lydia tossed her horse to the floor, not caring that it tumbled dangerously close to the monster under the bed.

"It's gonna eat youuuu," Amata warned in a sing-song voice. When Lydia didn't reply, she sighed. "Why do you even want to go outside?"

"Because I never went there," Lydia said, still brimming with disappointment. "And I want to find a horse."

Amata sighed, looking tired of the conversation. "Well, come on, let's keep playing. It's almost dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

**2243**

There was a strange sound outside. A rhythmic scraping and scuffling. It caught Sam's attention because usually their home was silent. The only other things that made sounds were living things, and he hadn't known his mother to make sounds like that.

He stood on his toes to peer out the window. The wind was kicking up a cloud of dust in front of their house. Through the haze, a figure staggered toward him. It was a human, like Sam and his mom. He had only ever seen a few other people. They almost never came by, and he had rarely left the vicinity of the house.

He watched the figure carefully. He knew that other things weren't supposed to come near the house. He would get his mother if it got nearer. As it walked closer, he realized there was something strange about the person. It made strange sounds, like it was sick, and there was something very wrong with its skin.

Sam slid away from the window and went to his mother, who was asleep. "Mom."

Her eyes opened to narrow slits. "What, sweetie?"

"Something's outside."

She sat up immediately. "What's outside?"

"A man."

There was another sick sound outside. It had suddenly gotten very close. The person pushed open the front door. Sam's mother's eyes widened and she leapt for her rifle on the rack on the wall. The sick person screeched and jumped for the closest target: Sam. There was no doubt in his mind that if the person reached him, bad things would happen.

He darted behind the couch just as the man dove for him. Sam felt the man's fingers brush his shirt as he barely missed him. He heard the man's growl behind him suddenly cut short at the sound of a heavy impact. He cautiously looked out from behind the couch. The person was lying on the floor, unmoving. He had a patch of blood on his crushed skull that matched the one on the butt of his mother's gun.

Slowly he stood, backing away from the body. He felt have sure that it would suddenly spring up to chase him again. "Why did he do that?" he asked his mother, his voice trembling.

"It's a ghoul," she said softly, setting the gun down. "That's just how they are. They can't help it." She picked up the skeletal corpse without much difficulty and lifted it over her shoulder. "Open the door for me?"

He went and held the door while she carried the body through.

"Go inside and latch it behind me," she continued. "Don't move until I get back."

He nodded and quickly went back inside. He hurried to the window to watch her go. She faded into the dust, moving slowly under the weight of the corpse, then disappeared. A few minutes later, she came forth again, this time by herself. Sam went to open the door again. His mother entered without saying anything. She solemnly went to the rifle on the floor and began wiping the blood away.

"Why didn't you shoot him?" Sam asked.

"There wasn't time to load," she replied. "We don't keep guns loaded in the house," she reminded him. "That keeps us both safe."

"I know," he assured her. He came to kneel on the floor beside her. "But...maybe you should keep one loaded."

"No, Sam."

"Mom, I'm old enough. I'll be careful," he assured her. Sam did not like guns. They scared him. But right now he was even more scared of what had just happened. He always knew he'd have to use them regularly eventually—all adults did. They were the lesser of many evils.

His mother seemed to be thinking. "What if another one came?" Sam prodded. "When you're not here?"

She sat for a moment longer, then got up. She went to a shelf on the wall and picked up a box of .22 caliber bullets, then came and handed both the bullets and the gun to her son. "Alright. Show me how good you are, then. If you think you're ready, go prove it."

He looked up at her questioningly as he took them.

"You remember how I showed you?" she asked.

Sam nodded, recognizing this as one of her tests. She rarely missed an opportunity to give him a lesson on anything. He pressed the bullets into the magazine, going slowly enough to be sure that he wouldn't make a mistake. When he finished, his mother nodded in satisfaction and pointed to an empty tin can on the shelf. He collected the target and went to go practice.

"You be careful with that, Sam. It's not like your pellet gun."

He nodded.

Outside, he gripped the rifle with all the reverence and importance he imagined was appropriate for those who frequently used them. His mother was right—it was heavy and unwieldy compared to his pellet gun. It made him nervous. He didn't like shooting, especially at things that were alive. He wished everything would just stay away so he wouldn't have to.

He closed his eyes, thinking of the detectives and superheroes in his comic books. They were never afraid or hesitant. They always knew who the bad guys were, and they knew how to deal with them.

He could be like them.

With pretended confidence he couldn't quite fool himself with, he stalked down the path away from the house. Large boulders and outcroppings hid it from view from the rest of the wasteland. Dust whipped up into his face as he came out on the other side. Holding up his newly-acquired gun, he looked left and right. There was nothing in sight that might try to sneak up and get him. The body was nowhere nearby that he could see, either.

He lowered the gun slowly, still suspicious. He squinted in the billowing dust as he looked out at the featureless landscape. He had been away from the house a few times to go into town, but never alone, and never far. A part of him wanted to keep walking, and wished he could wander the wastes on his own without fear. Another, larger part of him, was terrified by the very thought and would not even consider it.

He turned to go back to the house, then stopped when something caught his eye. Far off in the distance, he could see a figure walking. Sam stumbled in his hurry to scramble behind a rock, then felt foolish for doing so. Surely they wouldn't have seen him from so far away.

He peered over the rock and watched with wide eyes as the figure approached. It was coming toward him from an angle. He hoped it would just pass by. As it came closer, he could see that it was a human like he and his mother, not like the thing they'd killed earlier. Regardless, it was coming straight for him. He hunched down behind the rock, clutching his rifle so hard it hurt. Things from the wastes weren't supposed to come to their house.

The person he watched stumbled as he walked. He looked tired, but that didn't make sam any less nervous. He knew he should go and tell his mother again, but it was too late now. The man would see him if he moved. So he stayed, frozen on the spot.

The man looked up at the boulders, then seemed to spot the path between them. His eyes glided over the place where Sam hid, then, after a pause, moved back to him and widened in surprise. The man saw him.

Sam panicked.

He lifted the gun and shot, haphazardly. He did not have great accuracy even when he wasn't terrified. The man jumped wildly as the bullet flew by, and ran in the other direction. Sam stood up and fired again, and missed. He didn't care whether he hit the man or not, so long as he left.

He lowered the gun, breathing hard as he watched the man sprint back into the clouds of dust, looking over his shoulder once or twice. He heard his mother coming down the path behind him with equally hurried steps.

"Sam?" she called. "What are you doing out here? Go shoot in the back." Then she rounded the corner and saw the man retreating into the wastes. "What happened?" she asked, her voice now edged with concern and ire.

"There was another person. I scared him away." He ground his teeth anxiously.

"Are you hurt?" his mother asked, kneeling next to him and looking him over.

He shook his head. "He didn't see me." He handed her the gun, glad to let her have the responsibility of holding it.

She gave him a strange look, then gazed out at the man in the distance. "He didn't see you? What was he doing?"

"Nothing," he said, unsure how to respond. "Just...walking."

She turned back to him. "He was just walking?"

He nodded. "Toward the house."

"Well what did you shoot at him for?"

Now it was his turn to look puzzled. "No one's supposed to be near the house, except us. And he was going to see me. I was scared."

His mother's eyebrows pulled down in a decidedly concerned and disapproving way. "Well Sam, you don't just shoot at people because you're afraid of them," she said with a humorless laugh.

"Why not?"

"You don't shoot at other people unless they're trying to hurt you," she replied in a hard tone.

"We shoot animals that aren't hurting us," he reasoned. She gaped at him, and he shuffled uncomfortably. He sensed he was digging himself into a hole, but he still didn't know what had made her so upset.

"Animals are different than people, Sam! That man is a person like you and me! How would you feel if somebody shot at one of us?"

He was horrified at the idea that she thought he might not know the difference between her and others. "But I wouldn't shoot at you," he protested desperately, "only other people!"

The look on her face was so disappointed, so miserable, he wished he could take back everything he'd done to make it appear. He couldn't remember her ever having looked like that. This was not an expression that said he was in trouble. It was far beyond that. He'd made her feel something terrible.

"I'm sorry," he said, not caring what he was apologizing for.

She stared at him. The seconds passed. Slowly, she turned and trudged back down the path. "Come inside," she said. "I need to have a talk with you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

**2272**

_Name three literary themes found in Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four. _

Lydia typed up a somewhat lazy and hurried answer on her terminal. She didn't really see the point of homework. They wouldn't hold you back unless you failed the tests, and everything that mattered was decided by the GOAT, anyway. But it made her father happy when she did well, and it wasn't hard. She'd read every textbook in the vault by now.

The screen flickered, and she worried it might shut itself off. It did that sometimes, and she had to start over. They'd used paper and pens when they were younger and learning how to write, but they'd switched to computers soon after. There wasn't much paper left now, and they rationed it conservatively. The notebook she'd used for school several years ago had already been half filled by someone in 2095. She wrote on the backs of the pages.

There came a knock on her door: _tap tap-tap tap-tap_. It was Amata. Lydia went to open it.

Amata was smiling when the door opened. Lydia was immediately on her guard. She smiled that way when she was going to say something she thought Lydia wouldn't like.

"Hey," Lydia said.

"Hi! Are you doing anything? I was wondering if you wanted to come down to the diner with me."

"Why?"

"Just some kids were going to start hanging out there after school. It'll be fun, come on."

Nobody in class really liked Lydia. They liked Amata even less. Lydia had given up, but Amata sure hadn't. But she still wouldn't go by herself. She needed support. "What kids?" Lydia asked warily.

"Christine and some others. She invited me." She wrung her hands lightly in front of her. "Will you come?"

Lydia grimaced inwardly. "I'm kinda doing some homework..."

"But we just got out of class! You can do it later. Come on."

Lydia looked back at her terminal, then at Amata. Christine was alright, she supposed. She sighed, and stepped out into the hall, locking the door behind her.

Amata grinned. "Great! Let's go."

When the door to the diner slid open, the first thing Lydia saw was the tunnel worms sitting at the table in the middle of the room. The group glanced up as they came in, but were too busy talking about something else to say anything. Lydia shot Amata an irritated glance. Amata sent back an apolagetic look and went to sit next to Christine, who was at the next table with a cola in front of her.

"Hi guys," Amata said cheerfully.

"Hey Amata," Christine said, with what seemed to Lydia to be a very artificial smile. But then, she usually looked like that. Susie, who sat next to her, barely looked up. "We were thinking," Christine continued, "wouldn't it be cool if we could get the atrium for a night and have a big party?"

Lydia guessed where this conversation was going. She tried to listen to the radio instead.

"Oh, yeah," Amata nodded. "But you know there's a waiting list, and I don't think..."

"Yeah, but, you know, your dad _is _the Overseer. Maybe if you asked him."

Amata's face fell the tiniest bit. "Oh. Yeah."

Christine tapped her chin, as though thinking. "And don't you think the under-18 curfew is really unfair? We thought you could tell him to think about changing the time to eleven instead of ten.

"Yeah," said Amata. "Sure."

There was a quiet moment, and music poured from the radio. They'd turned it up louder than it usually was. It wasn't a real radio, of course—there were no signals to pick up. But someone in the early days of the vault had set it up so that the PA broadcasts would come through the pre-war radio. Setting it to any frequency but that one would only give you static, but it had apparently been good enough for whatever homesick radio fan had set it up.

Noticing Susie sipping her Nuka-Cola, Christine took a drink of her own. She made a regretful face. "I wish they had diet sodas. It's like they're _trying_ to make us fat. How do you stay so skinny, Lydia?"

She looked up at the sound of her name. "Oh. I don't know," she replied absently.

Susie looked over for the first time, wrinkling her nose. "She spends all her food coupons on cakes. I've seen it. That's totally not healthy." She looked down at her and Amata with distaste. It was as though, now that disdain had breached the surface, she was unable to stop it from spilling forth. "Your dad is a doctor. Doesn't he teach you not to be that gross?"

"_Susie_," Christine hissed, glancing at Amata. But Lydia's always-ready temper had already flared.

"Doesn't _your_ dad teach you not to be such a snooty bitch all the time?" she said before she could think better of it.

Susie gasped and stood, shoving her seat out behind her, but whatever she'd been about to do was interrupted by a hiss of static from the radio. It buzzed for a moment, then softened into a distant, lilting voice.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and slowly turned to stare at the radio.

The song was intermixed with static and hard to make out, but it was clearly there, and it was clearly one that they had never heard before. It faded in and out eerily, but the song was beautiful and new. At first everyone was too shocked to do anything.

It was Susie who broke the silence. "What is this?" she asked quietly. Everyone exchanged nervous glances. "It's creeping me out. Someone turn it off."

"Yeah," Amata said after a moment. "This is weird."

Paul got up and went to the radio.

"No, wait!" Lydia cried, and leapt to swat his hand away from the dials, tripping over her chair in the process. She stood in front of it in case anyone else tried to touch it, but the song was ending. As it faded out, another voice began speaking energetically in its place.

"...and you're listening...galaxy...the capital wasteland today...beautiful...steel...to have...enclave says..."

What little of the voice could be made out grew more distorted until it was only a garbled jumble of sounds. The static grew louder, then suddenly disappeared, and the PA system music was back. Lydia stared, open mouthed, at the radio.

Everyone was quiet. Then Wally spoke up. "You're such a spaz, Lyd," he said under his breath.

"I am not a spaz." Lydia slowly turned to look at him. "That came from outside! There's somebody out there broadcasting that, and we just picked it up! This has probably never happened before...It probably never will again. This might be the only contact we ever have with the outside world!"

She looked around at all of them. They looked at each other.

"Whatever," Wally said with a snort. "Nerd."

All the others smiled and laughed, too, and the spell was broken. The tense air in the room disappeared. Paul and Susie sat down. Lydia looked to Amata, who shrugged.

The only other person in the room who wasn't laughing, to her surprise, was Butch. She met his eyes for a moment before he looked away and his usual sneer appeared again.

Scowling, she hit the door release and stalked out into the corridor and back to her room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 **

**2249**

Sam dumped a final shovelful of dirt on the grave, then stopped, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His fingers brushed his hair. It needed to be cut. He'd have to do that himself now.

He'd thought of putting up some kind of marker, but decided against it. It wasn't as if his mother would care now, and he would rather not remember where she was. Which was why he'd dug all the way out in the wastes half a mile from the house.

He would not be coming back.

He stared down at the mound of dirt after he'd finished. He wasn't sure what to do now. After a few moments he swallowed and turned to walk back to the house, carrying the shovel with him.

The house was filled with nearly everything he could ever want, but he could only fit so much in his bag. He took the largest one he could find and filled it with everything he thought might be useful. Then he left, locking the door behind him. He might come back someday, but right now he didn't want to be there. The emptiness was unnerving.

He paused only a moment at the end of the path in front of his house before summoning his courage and continuing in the direction of Megaton.

He walked until it began to grow dark, then started to look for a place to sleep. There was a cliff with an outcropping of rock that shielded it from the weather and from view somewhere along the way. He and his mother usually camped there. But now, not only was it nowhere in sight, but he didn't recognize any other landmarks, either. He seemed to have wandered off the route he was supposed to take. But he kept going. It wouldn't do him any good to stop in the middle of the wastes.

Soon, the flickering glow of a fire nearby caught his eye. Off to his left, a figure sat on a log in front of the small blaze. Sam ignored it and kept on straight ahead, but as he passed, the figure waved and called to him. He paused, watching the figure. It looked back at him. He and his mother didn't usually talk to anyone outside the cities. He was nervous about doing it alone, and normally wouldn't even have considered going over. However, he needed to ask someone for directions, and for some reason today he felt less afraid than usual.

He turned off his course and walked cautiously to the fire. The man sitting there was wearing clothes more worn and dirty than his own. He didn't look more than five years older than him. The man smiled up at him as he approached.

" 'Lo there."

"Hi," Sam replied. "Do you know how to get to Megaton?"

"Oh, yeah." He stood up, turning to look and point in the other direction. "I just came from there. See, you can see it from here, between those hills."

Sam moved to see from his perspective. Indeed, he could just see the city's lights twinkling in the twilight, very far away. "Thank you," he told the man, and started toward it.

"Well hey, wait up," the man said, sitting down again. "You just got here. You look tired. Why don't you just chill for a while?"

He definitely did not want to stay for a while. But he _was _tired. Against his better judgement, he sat down on the other end of the log.

"You packing for the apocalypse or something?" the man asked, noting his over-full backpack with a good-natured smirk. "Didn't anyone tell you it already happened?"

Sam shrugged, unsure what sort of reply was expected.

The man picked up something from the ground beside him, which turned out to be a tin can with a spoon sticking out of it. He held it out. "Beanie Weanie?"

Sam stared at him. "...what?"

"It's just beans and cut up hot dogs," he said, looking thoughtfully into the can. "It's pretty good, though."

Sam's stomach had been growling for the past two hours. He had some food in cans, but he'd realized halfway here that he'd brought nothing to open them with. He accepted the can. The man was right—it was pretty good.

"So what are you going to Megaton for?"

Sam looked up from the can. "Trying to find a job."

"Yeah? What can you do?"

He looked up again, wondering why he cared. "I don't know. Normal stuff."

"Good luck getting a job without any skills," the man replied. "Everyone wants to go to Megaton. It's tough out there. I don't live there either. I just go to trade."

Sam set the spoon back in the can. "Oh."

"Can you shoot?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

The man nodded slowly. "If you can shoot, you'll be okay."

Sam nodded, handing him back the near-empty can.

"I just trade, the man continued. "And transport things. Get something in Megaton, take it to Big Town and sell it for more. You know. It's pretty easy money, if you know how to haggle and how to avoid trouble. Like, you—I could tell you're not trouble."

He didn't know what Big Town was, but he nodded again. He hadn't been around people much aside from trips to Megaton, and usually no one bothered him there. He wondered if they all talked this much. His mother never did. It seemed unnecessary.

"I can't do computers or electric stuff or anything. I grew up out here, in the wastes. Never learned that stuff. You too, I bet. I can tell. You don't seem much like the intellectual type."

Sam gave him an unappreciative look.

The man held up his hands with a smile. "Hey, hey, I'm kidding. Take it easy." His smile faded. "You know, you look a little young to be out here alone."

He had not felt much since she died. Maybe he was in shock. Of all things, the man's innocent statement was what brought him out of it. He bowed his head. He didn't know what he was going to do now.

"Hey, you okay?"

Sam looked up and away from the man, wiping his face. "Shut up."

"We've all been there, man." The way he said it, Sam guessed that he had. It was not condescending or presumptive, only reassuring. "It'll get better. It will."

He sniffed, looking sidelong at the man, and nodded quickly as he tried to clear his face. The man quieted after that, for which he was grateful. It slowly grew dark. The fire glowed and cracked.

Soon, the man stood up, licking his spoon and tucking it into a pocket. "I'm heading out," he said. Some, but not all, of the smile in his voice had come back. "Good to travel at night, you know. The raiders and animals are asleep, and you're harder to see."

Sam watched him pick up his pack and dust off his pants. They only seemed to get dustier as a result. "Wait," Sam said, and reached into his own pack and dug around hurriedly before locating an Astro-Stix candy bar. He held it out to the man. "Here," he said, and nodded to the can on the ground. "For that."

The man grinned and took the candy bar, looking it over closely. "No way! I haven't seen one of these since I was a kid. They're my favorite." He looked up skeptically. "You sure?"

Sam nodded. They'd had a few of them at home. His mother loved them. He didn't. They were too sweet.

The man, needing no more encouragement than that, happily tucked the candy bar into his backpack, then looked at Sam. "You'll be alright," he said sagely. "I can tell."

For some reason, Sam thought he might be right.

He offered no more help, which was just as well, because he wouldn't have accepted it. Traveling with his mother was one thing. Taking aid from pitying strangers was another.

After the man left, Sam watched the fire until it became embers, and then cooling coals. Then he picked up his pack and swung it over his shoulders. He was tired, but he would keep walking for now, until he found a safe haven. It couldn't be too long until he found one. He looked across the horizon for Megaton, and started for the dim and flickering but ever-present lights.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

**2273**

"I found a way to disable the security camera next to that door in the lower wing I told you about. Once it's off, we should be able to open it with the override code. Want to check it out?"

Amata paused. "Is that all you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Well, yeah," Lydia said. "It's just, we haven't done anything for a while, and I've been trying to get through that door forever..."

"I don't know if we should do that stuff anymore, Lydia."

She frowned. "What? Why?"

"I just don't know if it's such a good idea."

"You were the one who started sneaking around and hacking doors in the first place, and now you don't want to?"

"That was a long time ago," Amata said quickly. "I mean, I thought we were done with that. We're too old to be that irresponsible. We can't just go around breaking all the rules like they don't mean anything. It's bad for everyone in the vault."

Lydia didn't know what to say. She and Amata had never had much in common, but exploring was something they'd always done together. They wouldn't have much to talk about if not for that one shared interest.

"But I was going to head down to the library, if you want to come," Amata added hopefully. "I was thinking of rereading that poetry anthology."

"No thanks."

"Well...we should do something sometime. I never see you anymore."

"Yeah, Lydia replied. "Sometime." Amata left, and Lydia shut the door behind her.

They lived in a vault. They saw each other enough. Here, you saw everyone enough. But it was true, they never really did things together anymore. Lydia was beginning to think that this was the age when people started to realize that a lot of the time, the only reason they remained with their friends was because there wasn't anyone else available.

She had just sat back down when Amata came back and knocked again. _Tap tap-tap tap-tap_. With a small sigh, she went to the door and opened it again. Instead of Amata, she saw a leather jacket. Then it punched her in the face.

She recoiled, and before she could recover, she was in a headlock. "Butch! Get off!"

"Is your dad here?" he asked, pulling her inside. He smelled very strongly of some flowery cologne.

"Fuck off," she snarled, pulling at his arm ineffectively as he hit the release to shut the door. He let go of her, and she came up with her fists in front of her.

"Don't worry, I'm not really gonna beat you up. That was just in case anyone was looking."

"Oh, _thanks_," Lydia spat.

"No biggie," he said magnanimously, straightening his jacket.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Just tell me what you want."

Butch's voice was suddenly less confident. "I'm failing class."

"So? What else is new?"

"I mean I haven't passed any tests this year. If I don't get 60% on the one on Thursday, they're gonna hold me back and I'll have to be in class with the little kids."

"Maybe you should stay back. You obviously haven't learned anything in class so far."

"Shut up! I ain't going to class with a bunch of little kids. So you need to help me."

"Why? Paul and Wally are doing fine. Ask them for help."

"Come on," he protested. "I can't ask them. I can handle my own problems, anyway."

"How is asking me handling it yourself?"

"It's different. You wouldn't get it."

Lydia thought she did get it. He didn't want to look stupid or weak to his friends. It was different if he asked her, because then he was coercing someone rather than asking for kindness from them.

"Besides, you get the best grades in class, 'cept for Amata, and I ain't asking that daddy's-girl."

She knew it would be a lot easier, and probably less painful, to just do it. "Alright...so...you want me to help you study...?"

"Pft, no." He made a face as though it were the stupidest idea he'd ever heard. " Just give me the answers to the test."

"Oh." Of course. That sounded a lot less weird. "Fine, whatever."

He looked vaguely surprised. "You'll do it? You better not mess it up!"

Now he looked a little nervous. He was taking quite a risk, she supposed. She almost smiled at the thought of hanging him out to dry on the day of the test. Oh how the class would laugh, seeing him go to class with the kids five years younger than them.

But she knew she wouldn't. Not even to him. "Don't worry about it," she said. "Now get out of my room."

"I was just about to leave," he said, backing out the door.

"Hey, Butch?" Lydia said as he crossed the threshold.

"Yeah?"

"You smell like a girl." She shut the door and locked it.

On the day of the test, Butch was oddly quiet when he sat down behind Lydia. The flowery cologne he'd been wearing previously had mysteriously disappeared.

Mr. Brotch handed out the tests, and Lydia quickly began filling in answers. She could hear Butch tapping his pen against his desk. When she finished, she took a small scrap of paper and scribbled each answer one after another. They were all multiple choice. When Mr. Brotch turned away, she dropped her hand, with the paper in it, to her side where Butch could see it. The paper was immediately snatched away.

The next week, Mr. Brotch returned the tests. As he was explaining some of the commonly missed questions, something jabbed her in the back of the head. She ignored it, since that happened fairly often. But then there came three more hard jabs, accompanied by a loud whisper.

"_Lydia!" _

She turned, and Butch was holding his test up angrily. "I got a D-plus! You gave me a bunch of wrong answers!"

"So? You passed," she whispered back.

"You're trying to make me look dumb!" he accused.

"Like I'd have to _try_ to do that," she sneered. Before he could hit her again, she continued, "Don't you think it'd be a little suspicious if your scores suddenly went from forty to ninety percent?"

He looked thoughtfully at his test. "Oh yeah." He looked up at her and smiled—a genuine smile, not the arrogant but forced one he usually wore. It was rare, she thought, to see him show a real emotion other than schadenfreude, but now his relief was obvious. "Thanks."

She smiled back faintly despite herself, and turned to face the board.

A few minutes later, she felt his pen poking the back of her head again. She turned to see what he wanted now. He was smiling again. Only now, it was his 'what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it?' smile, and Lydia quickly realized that this wasn't the type of poking that meant to get her attention. She sighed and stared at the board as Mr. Brotch continued to talk and Butch continued to poke.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 **

**2251**

It became clear almost immediately that this raid was going to be a complete failure.

Sam Harris watched the other mercs falling around him. The ghouls were fewer in number, but they had a better position and more cover. There was a reason they'd survived here for so long.

He found himself backing away form the fight. He hadn't wanted to be here in the first place, and he certainly wasn't going to die for Talon Company. And there would be no one to keep him from leaving if they were all dead.

As he neared the back corner of the plaza, one of the ghouls looked up at him, taking aim with her rifle. Before he could turn to run, she fired. He felt it hit his stomach, then his shoulder. It took a moment for him to feel it, so intense it was almost numbing. He managed to stumble around the corner before falling unconscious.

When he woke up, his entire torso throbbed with pressure and shooting pain. It was quiet. He opened his eyes. He was still in the place he'd fallen, just outside of the museum. Only a few minutes seemed to have passed. He could hear rasping voices around the corner, by the entrance. Breathing caused a sharp pain under his ribs. He tried to ignore it, and pushed himself up with one arm. When he moved his other arm, a shock went from his shoulder down to his fingers and back into his chest. He collapsed. He didn't have it in him to try again.

Less than a minute later, he heard footsteps coming near. They stopped next to him, and he looked up. The woman who'd shot him was looking down at him, the corners of her mouth turned sharply downward. When she saw him watching her, she cocked her head.

"Hey," she called to the others without moving her gaze. "This one's still alive." She looked him over, then knelt down next to him. "You're much too young. What are you doing here?" she asked softly.

Sam couldn't speak.

"You haven't got much left, have you?" she observed, as if he couldn't tell. He rolled his eyes, which made the woman laugh.

Another ghoul came up behind her. He looked at Sam with a raised eyebrow, pausing on the pool of blood that he could feel growing at his side. A lot of good that armor had done.

"He's gone," the new ghoul said.

"Not yet. And if he lives, he can talk to whoever runs the show there for us."

Sam drew another breath, roused by the suggestion that they might spare him. But he did not want to go back to Talon Company. He shook his head weakly.

"You don't like that idea?" the woman said. "It doesn't matter. We'll have plenty of time to talk about it later." She waved to someone behind her, and a taller ghoul appeared next to her. "Take him to the chop shop."

The larger one reached down and picked him up without speaking. Agony spiked through him as he was pulled off the ground, and he gasped involuntarily.

"Be careful," the woman chastised the one holding him, then looked down at Sam. "And you, don't complain. Things could be a lot worse for you right now." They began moving quickly toward the doors to the museum—the doors to Underworld. The pain, coupled with the hope and fear of what would happen once he was inside, was making Sam dizzy.

"This isn't a good idea, Willow," he heard the second ghoul say quietly. "It doesn't look like he's going to make it, and even if he does..."

"Take another look at him," the woman said, and her voice seemed far away. "I think some time with the glowing ones would do him well..."

Sam blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**2274**

Lydia didn't leave her room for three days after her father died.

Amata had come in shouting and crying about something, so hysterical that it took Lydia a few minutes to calm her down enough to understand her. She finally got the message across, saying something had happened to him and Jonas. Amata tried to stop her from leaving her room, but Lydia shoved past and ran through the halls to find them.

When she got there, a crowd of security officers was already in a rough circle in the room, looking down at something. She thrust two of them aside to see.

When they saw her there, they hurried to block her view and move her away from the scene. Officer Gomez held her arm and gently but firmly took her out of the room. But she had already seen him, and all the blood staining is white coat.

_Tap tap-tap tap-tap._ Amata kept coming by. She was the only one who did. It wasn't that no one else cared—Lydia just wasn't very close with anyone else in the vault. In any case, she ignored the knocking. On the day her father and Jonas were killed, she barricaded herself in her room. Security could have unlocked the door if they wanted to, but they didn't. No one but Amata tried to contact her. Until the fourth day, at least.

Amata knocked on the door. Lydia was lying on the couch. She continued to stare at the ceiling. When she didn't answer the door after the second knock, Amata spoke through the intercom.

"Lydia? Will you please open the door?"

Lydia closed her eyes.

"Lydia, I know you're in there."

"Go away," she said, almost too quietly to be heard on the other side of the intercom.

There was an audible sigh, and Amata spoke haltingly in reply. "Look, I know you're upset. Everyone knows that—we understand. We're just worried about you. You must need someone to talk to. It isn't good for you to stay locked up all by yourself." She paused, maybe waiting for her to reply. "Also...you need to start thinking about your responsibility to the vault. There's no one else here who knows anything about medicine."

Still, Lydia gave no reply.

"Lydia...they're going to open the door today either way. They want to make sure you're okay and...and ask some questions about your dad. I just wanted to warn you." The intercom switched off.

A few minutes passed. Then Lydia slowly sat up on her couch. She had not thought about the vault needing a new doctor. It alarmed her. Why did they think she was qualified for such a thing? She helped her dad, she'd read his books, but she was no doctor. She had never really thought about being his replacement. It was always a possibility, but only that, and she certainly had never thought it would come this soon.

But Amata was right. With Jonas gone, there was no better candidate. And while she couldn't care less about what the Overseer wanted or about her 'responsibility to the vault', she did care about the large number of innocent people in the vault who still needed a doctor. And she knew it was what her father would have expected of her.

She changed her suit, tied her hair back, and went outside. Amata was gone. She was relieved to find no one in the hallways, or in the kitchen. She looked at her Pip-Boy. It was eleven AM. All the other kids were in class, and all the adults were working. She hadn't been in for school at all this week, she realized. No one had mentioned the absences to her, though. The GOAT was in a week. She guessed it didn't matter now. She probably wouldn't have time for school any more, either.

She was washing her dishes when the door opened, and the last person in the world that she wanted to see walked in.

"Well," said Mr. Almodovar. "Good to see you're still with us. We were all beginning to wonder about you." He set his coffee mug on the counter next to her. "It's good that you have the maturity to realize that the good of the vault comes before all else. I know this is hard for you. It was terrible that it had to happen, but in time, I think you will realize that it was for the best."

Lydia didn't look at him, but glared at the mug, tears streaming down her face. She was absolutely sure that she never had felt, nor ever again would feel such pure hatred for anyone. She picked up the coffee mug, turned, and barely kept herself from hurling it at him. Instead, it crashed against the opposite wall and shattered.

"The murder of my dad and Jonas was for the best?" she screamed, struggling to maintain enough composure to form coherent sentences. "My dad never hurt anyone. All he ever did was try to help people, and you killed him."

Mr. Almodovar looked calmly at the shattered mug, then back up at her. "I did not, in fact. A security officer, who was doing his job, did. Your father and his assistant were jeopardizing the safety of Vault 101 and its citizens. I can see you need some more to come to terms with this, but someday you will understand. With age comes wisdom. Until then, I hope that you can learn from your father's mistakes and that my daughter will be able to talk some sense into you."

He picked up the pieces of the broken mug, and left. As the door slid shut behind him, Lydia stalked out the other door. She didn't know where she was going, but she was too furious to stand still. When it first happened, she had been to shocked and horrified to even move. Now, she wished she could do to the Overseer and his security force what they had done to her father. How could they do this to him? And to Jonas? And to her?

He had devoted himself to improving the lives of others, and look what he'd gotten for it.

Three people in leather jackets rounded the corner at the end of the hallway. Lydia was only half surprised to see them—she hadn't expected to see anyone in these back hallways, but it made sense that they would be hiding back here if they were cutting class. She was in no mood to turn around and go the other way. She was ready for a fight, even if she would lose.

But to her surprise, they moved aside when she came near. There was no further interaction between them as she passed. She turned the corner at the end of the hall, then paused when she heard someone coming after her.

"Hey," said Butch, "that's really fucked up what they did to your dad and Jonas."

Lydia wiped her face and turned to face him. "I know."

"They think they can just do whatever they want. Like they own us. They're always doing shit like they're the gods of the vault. Now they're killing people. It's bullshit."

The intensity of his anger surprised her. "I thought they'd try to cover it up," she said.

"If they did, us Tunnel Snakes'd make sure everyone knew."

"They would forget."

He scowled, and she knew he thought the same thing, deep down. "Everyone keeps saying how sad it is, 'how terrible' and 'poor Lydia'. But nobody says how the Overseer's a piece of shit."

Lydia nodded miserably, and Butch stepped a little closer.

"Paul and Wally...they're pissed off too, but they don't get it. They think they do, but they don't. This whole vault is messed up. It always has been, and you and me are the only ones who ever notice."

He looked away, recovering from the confession. "I hate the place," he muttered.

"Me too."

She did. And she decided that the Overseer was right about one thing: she would learn from her father's mistakes. She knew now what probably should have been clear all along—she didn't belong here, and she couldn't stay here for the rest of her life. She would stay long enough to train another doctor, and then she would succeed where her father had failed. She was going to leave 101.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9 **

**2251**

Sam eased himself up on his bed. His stomach and shoulder still hurt, but he thought he was well enough to move around without restarting the bleeding, and he couldn't afford to wait any longer. He had to get out of there.

There was no one else in the clinic—or the chop shop, whichever they called it. The doctor seemed to have left. It was a good opportunity to take his leave, he thought.

He crept to the door, and cracked it open. He shut it quickly again. There were ghouls standing outside. They didn't look like sentries, but surely they would know why he was there and wouldn't just let him leave. Maybe it was worth a try. He opened the door again.

There was a resistance when he pushed on it this time. Looking out, he saw why. The woman who'd shot him was standing outside with her hand on the handle. Her other hand was on her sidearm.

"Why don't you go sit down?" she suggested after a moment.

Sam glowered at her, but went back to the bed and sat down, holding his stomach tenderly. The woman followed him in, closing the door behind her.

"How are you feeling?"

"Alright," he said flatly. He would say he'd had worse, but he hadn't.

"Good. The doc says you'll make a full recovery."

He had guessed as much, by the way he was feeling, but it was still a relief to hear.

"When that happens, we've got something for you to deliver to your higher-ups."

He shook his head, vaguely remembering this having been mentioned before.

She looked disapproving. "Come on, now. We've gone to all this effort to keep you alive after you attacked us. It's the least you can do, and it means you get to leave without a scratch. Well...without any more scratches."

"Then I'll do something else for you, but I'm not going back there."

She cocked her head. "Why?"

"Do you need to know my life story? I just don't want to."

"Alright, alright. No need to show any common courtesy, I only saved your life, after all." She watched him for a moment, and he looked at the wall. "Sorry," she added. "About the sarcasm. We all have it. I think cynicism and an inappropriate sense of humor are natural coping mechanisms for living in a world where everyone hates you. You don't hate ghouls, do you?"

"Not any more than I hate anyone else."

"Good thing," she said with a half-smile.

Sam hadn't spoken with anyone but the doctor since he'd gotten to Underworld. He still wasn't sure where he stood there, and this woman seemed to think it was all a joke. He decided to be direct. "You're not going to let me leave?"

"No, not yet."

"Then what happens now?"

She shrugged. "Don't know. I guess we haven't decided yet. My friend Quinn still thinks we should've left you out there. Carol got wind of the whole thing and keeps telling everyone how excited she is to meet you, even though I keep telling her it's nothing to get excited about—no offense. And this new guy Ahzrukhal keeps telling me to send you up to talk with him. Planning some scheme to do with Talon Company, I'm sure.

"There's no 'council of ghouls'. Nobody's the boss here. But I suppose it's up to me, since I brought you in."

"So what do you want?"

She leaned against the cot across from him and folded her arms. "I've been thinking about that while you've been in here. I know I shot you, but then I brought you back in here, so I figure we're even on that count. But now I'm paying all your medical bill, and I think you owe me for that." She paused to let him reply, but he neither agreed nor objected. "Have you got any money?"

Sam shook his head.

"Hmph. Well I can't force you to go back to Talon Company, and quite frankly I'm fine with there being one less Talon merc in the world, anyway. But if you won't do that, I'll have to think of something else. Does that sounds agreeable?"

"Yes." He had not expected this. But he also not expected to survive the attack on the museum. And he did feel indebted to her for that.

"Why don't you come with me the next time I leave town? Quinn is gone and I need a spotter. Always helps to have a human with you when you're traveling, too. Think you can keep from attracting too many mutants?"

"Yes."

"You're not going to shoot me in the back, are you?"

He looked up at her, wondering if it was a trick question. "No."

"You sure?"

He gave her a weary look. "No. I've changed my mind. I think I'm going to."

"You see? You've already got the sarcasm down. You'll fit right in. When do you think you'll be well enough to go?"

He twitched his shoulder. It still hurt, but not much. "A few days."

She looked him up and down. "Let's make it a week. I'll be back. Don't go anywhere, alright?"

He nodded once, and she left him alone in the clinic again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**2277**

Lydia ran through the rough rock tunnel with bounding strides, and as she watched the irregularities in the walls pass, she already felt a sort of shock, though she knew this was the least of what was to come. All her tunnels were standard Vault-Tec size, and this one was two feet wider and taller. It was disorienting, and she felt as though she would run into something even when she could clearly see that there was nothing in front of her.

At the strange wooden door at the end of the tunnel, she stopped and looked back. The security officers had stopped shooting and were looking out at her from the mouth of the vault. The door siren sounded and the door began to grind shut. Her heart dropped. The metal disk thudded into place with an ominous finality. How could she have been so elated when it opened and so terrified when it closed?

No more sound or movement came except settling dust came from the doorway. It was as if it had never opened at all. Lydia turned to the rickety door next to her. She could feel a faint breeze and see bluish light through the cracks. The air smelled and felt different. It made her hair stand on end.

Tentatively, she pushed open the door.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**2277**

A small noise awoke Harris. He sat still and listened, but didn't hear anything else. He'd been having a dream he met a girl with red hair.

He carefully glanced around as he reached for his gun. Then he saw the girl from the dream lying a few yards away. He relaxed as he remembered the previous day and realized she had been the source of the sound.

He had never met someone from a vault. He had crossed a few empty ones, but had never gone inside. He was envious of the vault dwellers for being born in a place where everything was provided for and nothing could hurt you. Why someone would leave one was beyond him. Then again, everyone knew strange things went on inside vaults.

Moira said somebody who grew up in one had come through Megaton a while back. She'd sent him off on some errand, and he never came back. It wasn't really surprising. They couldn't be well-equipped for surviving in the wasteland. The girl next to him sure wasn't. She was a decent shot, but she would probably die if she didn't stay with him the rest of the way to Megaton.

She was turned the other way, but he remembered that she looked like the type of person who would smile a lot if she weren't under such stress. As it was, most of the time she just looked bewildered.

He had expected her to run when she saw him, like any other vault dweller would have. Honestly, he had half-hoped to be rid of her that way. But she hadn't, so he was stuck with her now. He supposed he would have been saddened if she'd left, anyway, knowing what would probably happen to her. And he knew that he would never have made it to this point in his life if not for people who had decided to help him along the way. He owed it to them to pass on the favor to the next person.

The girl suddenly turned over, looking wide awake. Harris frowned. She'd been awake? She was very still for someone who wasn't deep in sleep.

She blinked, then raised her eyebrows at him. He raised his back. She turned to face the other direction again. Harris shrugged to himself, and went back to sleep.


End file.
